Herr and Madame vonHedwig made their way from the mad scientist’s underground lair, trudging toward the surface. They were tired, and mired in thought, but alert for any sign of Montesanto or yeti.

A distant throbbing broke the silence of the cave. Exchanging concerned and puzzled looks, they hurried toward the sound. Suddenly, bright white light flashed against the tunnel wall ahead of them as the throb became a roar. They ran pell mell toward the fading sound, skittering to a halt at the mouth of the volcanic tube they had discovered on their way in. The engine sound that had shattered the underground silence was only a muttering far below them.

The Fearless Fabricator listened intently. There was something familiar about the engine sound, disturbingly familiar.

“What’s that?” Madame pointed down the wall of the volcanic tube. “Was that there before?”

Her husband cupped their lantern in both hands, focusing the light. There was a tiny smear of white clinging to the rock wall, its charred edges blending with the dark rock. When at last he spoke, he could only utter a harsh whisper.

Madame wrung her hands. “Dear Gods! What can have happened? Can it be the children?”

“Let us hasten to find out,” he answered. “We’ll save the champagne, and share a glass with Ulrik when we find everyone safe.”

With grim determination, they ran and scrambled to the surface.

.

Back aboard the Schmetterling, Madame piloted back towards the Schöneluft while her husband searched the terrain below with the smaller ship’s powerful spotlight.

“There’s an S.O.S. below,” he announced. “Spelled out dark against the snow.”

“We’ll land and look!”

Herr vonHedwig fired his harpoon-anchor at short range and the projectile buried deep into the ice. Once moored, they descended by rope ladder.

Madame threw herself to the ground, calling the children’s names in turn. Herr vonHedwig examined the letters of the distress call.

“They’re blankets. Very hairy blankets.”

A tall figure loomed at the edge of the darkness.

“Mein Herr, Meine Frau, you can never forgive me. I will never forgive myself.”

“Ulrik!”

“Where are the children?”

“Kidnapped. From right under my nose.” He told them how the boiler launch had taken off while he was setting the crewman’s broken leg, and described Claire’s message. He showed them the boot and paw prints he had found in the snow, and pointed out the flight path of the stolen ship.

“It disappeared over the ridge,” he explained with visible distress. “There was a sound-”